Love is something you and I must have. We must have it because our spirit feeds upon it. We must have it because without it, we become weak and faint...

Without it our courage fails. Without love, we can no longer look confidently at the world. We turn inward...and little by little, we destroy ourselves. With it, we are creative. With it, we march tirelessly. With it and with it alone, we are able to sacrifice for others.

-Chief Dan George

********************

The last of his personal items in his duffel bag, Blair zipped it closed with a determined, final tug. There could be no looking back now. His mind was made up, but if he allowed himself to think about what he was leaving behind, Blair knew he would retreat like a coward from the front lines of battle.

He had to go. Lingering now would serve no purpose. It was time to leave.

Taking a last look around at his small bedroom in the loft, Blair pushed down the sad thought that the room looked so empty already. He flipped off the light switch and determinedly shut the door behind him.

If Naomi and their years of travel together had taught him anything, it was that goodbyes are not made easier by delay.

********************

Jim stood before the wide doors leading to the balcony. Ramrod straight, arms crossed defensively, Jim flinched at the sound of Blair's duffel hitting the floor by the front door. He'd known this day would come - had known it for years. Any other man would have moved on with his life long ago. Only Blair's utter devotion to his Sentinel had kept him around Cascade this long. Jim knew he should feel fortunate.

He felt only emptiness.

"Hey, man," a soft voice called, and Jim felt the warmth of Blair's hand on his shoulder.

The time had come.

Steeling his expression to reveal nothing, Jim turned to face his friend. Blair was studying his features, searching for some sign as to how Jim was really handling this day. Sheer determination allowed for a smile. "You ready, Chief?"

"Ready as I'll ever be. If that duffel weighed much more, I'm not sure I could lift it."

"You're sure I can't drive you to the airport?"

"No. Geoff's on the same flight, remember? It's on his way to swing by here and pick me up. His roommate will pick up Geoff's car from the lot later today. It's covered, man. Relax."

Was the kid's smile a little too forced? His eyes a touch too bright?

Silence hung heavy between them. Awkwardly, Blair ventured, "I really do appreciate this, Jim. I know you didn't really expect it after all this time, but..."

"It's a great opportunity for you, Chief," Jim cut him off. "I understand that. The chance to work in Africa with Dr. Stoddard for two months..." He shrugged, not trusting himself to say more.

Blair had sacrificed so much for him over the years. Hell, Sandburg should have had his doctorate years before he finally got it, but his loyalty to Jim kept him plugging away as a TA and observer to remain at his Sentinel's side. When Blair finally earned that elusive degree, it had been after the turmoil of his Sentinel research's early release, Jim's own press conference to reveal the truth about his senses, and a hell of a lot of soul-searching on both their parts.

Even after becoming a part-time member of the Rainier faculty and a paid consultant to the Cascade PD, Blair had passed on several research opportunities other professors would have walked over hot coals to have had. When Sandburg told him about the chance to work with his mentor, Eli Stoddard, for eight weeks as a professional equal on a new research project in Africa, Jim had made up his mind to be nothing but supportive.

He owed Sandburg that much. That much and a hell of a lot more.

Only a few more minutes, and the charade could end.

"Yeah, it's a huge step for me." Blair's blue eyes glowed brightly with enthusiasm as he looked up at Jim. "It'll be the first field work I've done in years, and Eli's giving me equal billing with him on all the reports and published articles. Of course, even after we get back, it'll be a lot of work. It's really a huge responsibility, Jim. Eli's one of the most respected names in the field, and he's trusting me with so much on this one. I mean, if everything pans out the way he expects, we'll be breaking some important new ground. That means major journal publications, conference presentations, maybe even a book!"

Seeing the youthful enthusiasm that had always been an integral part of Blair, enthusiasm too often absent through the years their lives had been entwined, Jim smiled. He was genuinely happy for his friend. "I'm glad, Chief. You've waited long enough for this kind of recognition. It's about time."

Sandburg's expression turned serious. "You know I've been doing exactly what I wanted to do all these years, right? Whatever sacrifices I've made, they've been willing ones, Jim."

"I know, but..." Ellison hesitated then decided to lay it all out on the table. "If you hadn't been saddled with me, Chief, there's no predicting where you would have been by now in your career. You can't tell me you don't think of that from time to time."

"Sure," Blair admitted, "I've thought about it. But you've got it all backwards, man. My ‘career' isn't being an anthropologist any more. It's being your Guide. That's number one. Anything else is secondary. I'm only taking this offer as a one-time thing because the university won't keep me if I don't conduct research and publish. 'Publish or perish' is a cliché for a reason, you know. This one expedition should keep me in relevant data for years, so really, it's a good investment - for both of us."

Blair held Jim's eyes firmly as he added, "And for the record, I've never considered myself 'saddled' with you. The Sentinel part of my life – that means you - always comes first, Jim. You know that, right?"

Reaching out, Jim ruffled his friend's curls. "Yeah, Chief. I know that." He cocked his head, listening. "That sounds like a car parking across the street. Does Geoff drive an old Chevy?"

His words were immediately followed by three short blasts of a horn. Blair grinned, shaking his head. "Mind-boggling. You still amaze me, man."

"Just part of the benefits of having your own personal Sentinel, kid." Jim placed his hand lightly on the small of Blair's back as they walked to the door. "You sure you've got everything? The spare batteries for your laptop? Your passport?"

Blair nodded. "Got it all."

Jim reached over to the small table by the door and retrieved a small envelope. "Here." He handed it to Blair.

Sandburg stared down at it. "What's this?"

Jim shrugged. "Some extra cash. I know funding's always in short supply on these things, and a lot of your last month's salary went into buying clothes and things for the trip."

Blair shook his head, holding out the envelope. "I can't take this, Jim."

"Yes, you can," Jim said firmly. "Look, Sandburg, you don't want me to worry, right?" At Blair's nod, he insisted, "Then take the money. At least I'll know you've got ample cash. That will relieve one of my overprotective, Blessed Protector, Sentinel concerns. I want to do this, Chief. Okay?"

Looking from Jim to the envelope, obviously stuffed with enough money to see Blair through a year in Africa, the younger man nodded at last. "Okay. Thanks, Jim. Really. I won't need nearly this much, so I promise I'll bring back most of it."

"Okay, you can buy me dinner when you get back." Another trio of horn blasts came from Prospect. "Sounds like your friend Geoff is getting a little tired of waiting."

"Yeah, I gotta go." Blair bent to retrieve his bags, then straightened and looked around the loft. "Man, this is harder than I thought it would be." His blue eyes turned up to Jim, and it didn't take Sentinel vision to see the sadness there.

"It'll all be here when you get back," Jim pointed out gently. "And so will I."

"I know." Blair picked up his duffel and hoisted it to one shoulder, then grabbed his carry-on bag. "You be careful, all right? Take Simon along on any long stake-outs. Remember not to focus too hard on anything. And..."

Jim laughed. "I'll be careful, Chief. I promise. Now go before Geoff sends out a search party."

Blair turned to the door. "Okay. I'll..." The bags dropped heavily to the floor.

"What? Did you forget something?" Jim looked around the loft expectantly.

"Yeah," Blair said quickly. Before Jim could react, Blair's arms were around him in a tight hug. "I'm gonna miss you."

Returning the hug warmly, Jim lowered his head to whisper in his Guide's ear. "I wouldn't want this to get around the station, but I'll miss you, too, Darwin. You take care of yourself, all right?" He heard the need in his own voice but made no attempt to disguise it.

Against his shoulder, Blair nodded. "I will. We'll e-mail, right?"

"Sure. I even remember how to open attachments, so maybe you can send some photos of what you're doing down there." Jim's hands moved randomly over the younger man's back in reassuring, comforting circles as they stood quietly. At last, Jim gently pulled Blair away, still holding him by the shoulders. "You've earned this, Blair. I want you to go and set the anthropological world on fire. Understand?"

"Yeah." Sandburg smiled up at Jim, only a trace of sadness in his eyes. "Thanks, Jim."

Reaching beneath the heavy curls, Jim squeezed Blair's neck. "Now go on and get out of here. Eli's expecting you, and I don't want to be responsible if you miss your flight."

With a quick wave and a grin, Blair was gone.

"See you in eight weeks, Chief," Jim said quietly as he tracked Geoff's car en route to the airport. "I'm holding you to that promise to be careful."

********************

Jim,

Blair

********************

Jim,

Blair

********************

Jim,

********************

Jim,

Blair

********************

The wolf limped painfully through the jungle, looking back over its shoulder every few steps. The hunter never allowed the animal out of its sight, tracking the wounded wolf easily through the dense forest. Small red droplets, still warm, marked the wolf's path, making it even easier to trail the animal.

The wolf whined in pain. The sound cut through the jungle, reaching the jaguar's ears easily. In the sound, the jaguar heard the growing weakness of the wolf. There was no way the animal would be able to outwit or outrun the hunter alone. Without help, the wolf would surely die. The black feline picked up its pace.

********************

Jim hit the icon to open his e-mail window with a frustrated sigh. Three days and not a word from Sandburg. The kid had some nerve. Pumping Jim for details about work, their friends, and especially his senses, laying on the guilt in a major way, then not answering his mail for days. Where did he get off, letting Jim know he wasn't feeling well, then disappearing completely?

Surely there would be a note from Blair this morning. If not, he fully intended to fire off a mail to Sandburg and lay down the law. It didn't matter how busy they were with the Anaconda tribe or whoever the hell it was they were studying. Blair had enough time to write and let his worried Sentinel know he was all right.

Then there was the nightmare. The same damned dream every night for the last week. It never varied, although Jim longed to discover how the dream would end. The wolf was hurt, being tracked through the jungle by an untiring hunter, determined to slay it. The panther trailed them both, desperately trying to catch up, but never making much progress, despite its determination to find and save the wolf.

Jim had too much experience with visions and dreams to miss the meaning of this one. Blair was in trouble, and he needed to find him. The only problem was, he didn't have a clue what was going on down in Africa. What if this vision wasn't a warning about something happening now? What if it had something to do with the more distant future?

Jim cursed the fact that Sentinels didn't come equipped with manuals to help interpret the visions and dreams that were apparently part of the job description. That was Sandburg's job, after all, and he wasn't there to interpret.

The window opened, and Jim quickly scanned the list of mail. All spam. Except for the last subject, entitled Blair.

It was from Eli Stoddard.

The connection was frustratingly slow. As the computer whirred, Jim stared at the blank screen, running through all the possibilities as to why Dr. Stoddard would be writing to him about Blair. None of the options he came up with were good.

At last, the mail opened, and as Jim read, his heart sank lower as the meaning of the visions became clear.

********************

Detective Ellison,

Eli Stoddard

********************

That was all.

Jim slumped back in his chair, staring at the words. He checked the time in the lower right corner of the screen and compared it with the time on Eli's mail. Five hours. By now, they were surely en route to the hospital in Mamoban, wherever the hell that was.

How were they traveling? By Jeep, probably. Were the roads decent or was Blair being bounced around like a sack of potatoes? For that matter, what kind of hospital - what kind of doctors - would a place like that have? Would they have a clue what was wrong with Blair? Would they have the medicines, the expertise, to help him?

To save him?

Jim's throat tightened painfully. Saving Blair...that was really what this was all about. He could read between the lines of Eli's carefully chosen words. Blair was sick. Dangerously sick. A fever of 104 was not to be treated lightly, even in the best of conditions. In the middle of nowhere...

He forced his mind to focus on the practical. Jim's first instinct was to head immediately to the airport, catch a flight anywhere in the vicinity of middle Africa and find his Guide by whatever means necessary. As he worked out the plan in his head, Jim's right hand clenched and released again and again in frustration. But what if he made it to Mamoban only to find that they'd transported Blair to a larger city, a better hospital? Or that he'd been airlifted home o the States? It might take days longer to get to Blair than if he'd just waited in Cascade.

As much as he hated the thought, for the time being, Blair's fate rested in the hands of another - of Eli Stoddard. Jim knew Dr. Stoddard thought highly of Sandburg, and in the few times he'd met the man, Stoddard had impressed Jim as a capable, kind teacher. Certainly, Stoddard would take the best care of Sandburg possible given the circumstances.

It was those very circumstances that worried Jim.

********************

"So that's where we stand," Simon finished. "We expect the shipment to come in tonight, sometime after midnight. Jim, you, Henri and Rafe will cover the warehouse. Joel and I will watch the docks. We'll stay in contact via..."

"No, sir."

Simon focused his attention on Jim. "Do you see a problem with the plan, Jim?"

Ellison had been distracted the entire meeting. They'd started reviewing the Fishman case at about 3:00, and now that it was almost 4:30, Jim's restlessness had become almost tangible. Now, the experienced detective and former Army captain apparently had found something wrong with Simon's plan for that night's stakeout. Simon respected Jim's organizational abilities, his uncanny sense of what would or would not work in a given situation. If Jim saw a problem, Simon wanted to know more.

"No, sir, not with the plans for the stake-out, Captain. I just mean that I can't be on duty tonight."

Three other sets of eyes turned to Simon. Rafe shifted uncomfortably in his chair, while Henri cleared his throat. Joel merely bided his time, obviously interested in Simon's response.

Biting back a sharper retort, Simon pointed out, "I don't recall making this particular field trip optional, Detective. I need every one of you on watch tonight. This is a major shipment of narcotics we're talking about here."

Jim's gaze held firm, a sea of steely blue resolve. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't be there."

Simon's eyes narrowed. "May I ask for an explanation? Hell, forget asking. What's going on, Jim?"

"It's personal, sir."

That did it. Sometimes, he just got so damned frustrated with Jim's strong, silent type façade. How the hell did Sandburg put up with the man almost 24/7? Just as Simon was about to order Jim to give a full and detailed explanation, Joel spoke up calmly.

"Captain, if Jim's refusing to be on duty tonight, I figure there's gotta be a good reason." He shifted to look directly at Jim. "Does it have something to do with Blair?"

The stoic face softened, just a fraction, but it was enough for Simon to glimpse the pain in Jim's eyes. "Yeah," he admitted. "It does."

Of course. Simon berated himself for not having figured it out himself. Blair was gone, out of the Sentinel's sight and away from his protection. If something had happened to Sandburg, it was bound to be tearing at the powerful instinct Ellison had to protect the younger man.

"Jim?" Simon spoke softly, as a friend now rather than commanding officer. "What's happened?"

As Jim explained, Simon felt his own concern rapidly growing, and he could see similar concern on the faces of the other men gathered around the conference table in his office. Sandburg had become one of them over the years, and every man in the room shared Jim's concern for his well-being.

"So," Jim finished, spreading his palms helplessly, "that's all I know right now. That stake-out is likely to last all night and into the morning. Until I hear something, I have to stay near a computer, sir. I have to be able to check for any word from Eli...or Blair."

Taking off his glasses, Simon rubbed the bridge of his nose to relieve some of the pressure he felt building behind his eyes. "Right. That's understandable, Jim. Truthfully, I'm surprised you're still here, not on some flight to Africa."

The indecision in Jim's voice was clear. "Yeah, I considered that. I figured that it was just as likely they'd move him to better facilities or even get him on a flight back here before I could get there. For the time being, I decided it might be better to stay put." Ellison shook his head slowly. "I don't know though. I still haven't heard a word. Maybe I should have gone, left earlier today..."

"Don't second guess yourself, Jim," Rafe pointed out. "You'll hear. Surely this Dr. Stoddard will let you know something soon."

Jim's smile belied the hurt in his eyes. "He will. Eli's a good man. He'll take care of Blair as best he can given the circumstances. I just wish I knew what was happening."

Simon glanced at his watch. "We've been in here quite a while. Come on and use my computer. Check your mail."

Nodding, Jim got up and moved to Simon's computer. As the keys clicked, he said, "Probably nothing yet. I looked right before we got started and..." Jim fell silent, his face a mask, revealing nothing as he read.

"Jim?" Simon asked, moving to his desk to stand behind Jim. When there was no response, he took Jim's silence as permission and began reading over his shoulder.

He felt nausea rising as he read. Simon placed a supportive hand on Jim's shoulder and squeezed. Looking at the three concerned faces waiting on them, he shook his head slightly. "It's not good," Simon said softly. "Blair went into cardiac arrest twice, but they brought him back. They've got him stabilized enough for transport. He'll be on a flight arriving at midnight."

Jim was staring blindly at the screen, and for a moment, Simon feared he'd zoned. Then, the Sentinel added, "The doctors there couldn't help him. He's..." Jim's voice broke, and Simon squeezed his shoulders again, then the captain picked up the thread, reading over Jim's shoulder.

"He's contracted a virus, a fever similar to rheumatic fever. His pre-trip vaccinations should have prevented it, but apparently, something wasn't quite right with the shots he received. He was so far from medical help when he got sick that the high fever had already done a lot of damage by the time they got him to the hospital. The medicines they gave him have pretty much taken care of the virus, but it's the aftereffects of the fever they're concerned about."

"Aftereffects?" Rafe questioned. "Like what?"

Simon scanned the e-mail again. "Dr. Stoddard doesn't give any details. Just that Blair's still very sick and that his situation is critical."

Rafe nodded then he looked to Henri. "We can handle tonight at the warehouse, right, partner?"

"Yeah," Henri confirmed. "You just take care of Sandburg, Jim. We can hold down the fort."

Simon nodded in confirmation. Jim would be no good to them tonight in his state of mind. "I'll bring up Byrd from vice. He's worked with us before. He'll cover for you for a while, Jim. Listen, I have to be there tonight for this operation. Is there anyone I can call for you? Do you know where Naomi is?"

Jim shook his head. Simon recognized the stunned look of disbelief. "No. Not yet. I don't want to contact anyone until I know something more. I'll get him settled at Cascade General and see what the doctors say. Then, I can try to locate Naomi."

"Look, Jim," Simon pointed out, "it's still almost six hours until their flight is due. Let me drive you home, and you try to get some sleep. There's nothing you can do right now, and once Sandburg's here, you won't want to leave the hospital. The best thing you can do is try to sleep for a while now - while you can."

There was no protest from the Sentinel. Jim nodded twice, slowly, then he got up stiffly from Simon's desk chair. "I can drive, sir. I'll be fine."

Something in Jim's demeanor convinced Simon that any attempt to insist on someone driving him home would meet with stiff resistance. "All right," he conceded. "I'll check in with you when I can tonight." He hesitated. "Listen, Jim, we're all so sorry..."

With a quick wave, Jim cut him off as he headed quickly to the door. "Thanks. He's going to be fine. I'll see you all tomorrow."

********************

He tossed and turned until way into the evening but sleep eluded him. Simon had been right. Sleep would have been useful, but there was the small matter of turning off his brain long enough to get that much-needed rest. His thoughts kept returning to Sandburg, conjuring up images of his partner, sick and feverish, calling his name in a strange, faraway place.

He should have been there.

As illogical as it was, that one thought kept drumming over and over through Jim's head as he lay in his bed, struggling with sleep.

Blair was his Guide, and he should have been with him.

Giving up on the remote possibility that he could rest, Jim threw off the covers and put on his soft robe. Tying it around his waist, he jogged downstairs.

The clock on the microwave read 9:00. Three more hours. By the time he had something to eat, gathered some things in a bag so he could stay at the hospital with Sandburg, and got to the airport, the timing should be about right.

Jim put on some leftover chili to heat. He wandered into the living room but stopped at the door to Blair's room. The familiar scent of his Guide was strong, and Jim's heart constricted. He stared at the haphazard mess that Blair had left behind.

Moving over to the bed, Jim tugged half-heartedly at the covers. "You're a slob, kid, you know that?" He spotted a small yellow sheet of paper tucked beneath Blair's scrunched up pillow. Curious, he pulled it out.

A smile battled with tears for dominance as he read Blair's hurriedly written note:

Jim,

Blair

"Forget about you?" Jim muttered, folding the note carefully and slipping it into his robe's deep pocket. "Not in this lifetime, Chief. Or the next."

Letting his hand rest for a moment on the pillow that still bore the ghost of Blair's head, Jim shut his eyes. Then he left the small room, leaving the door open behind him.

********************

"There must be a flight coming in from Africa sometime tonight," Jim insisted, rapidly losing patience with the clerk's stubborn insistence that no flights arriving from the Dark Continent were expected.

"I've checked all the major airlines, sir, and..."

"Then check the minor ones! He didn't say which one they were taking. Check everything. Please." Jim hoped the touch of civility would help. Apparently it did, because the reservations clerk began checking his computer once again.

"Yes, here..." The young man looked up. "But it's a private jet, sir."

Jim was momentarily uncertain. "Private? Owned by...?"

"Wilkinson Industries. There's a note here that it's an emergency flight - a medical emergency. It's due to land at midnight and there's an ambulance scheduled to meet it once it's on the ground."

"What gate?"

"Gate 24."

"Thank you." Jim checked his watch as he strode down the concourse. After the delay in locating the flight, he only had thirty minutes left.

********************

The sleek silver jet descended from the heavy clouds and gracefully roared down the runway. Jim had a clear view, and it was only when the Lear was turning toward the terminal that he approached the young woman attending the gate. "They're on their way in. May I go down now?"

It had taken a long look at his badge, a call to Cascade PD headquarters, and confirmation over her phone that this was indeed a 'good Samaritan' flight to convince the woman that Jim wasn't some terrorist trying to get onto the tarmac. She nodded and escorted Jim to where the Lear was already pulled to a halt. The ambulance crew was hustling toward them with a stretcher.

Steps floated down from the side of the Lear. Eli Stoddard climbed stiffly to the ground. Jim ran to greet him.

"Eli? How is he?"

The professor looked ten years older than when Jim had last seen him. "Dr. Hatha is bringing him down now. He made it through the flight," Stoddard added, as if that would reassure Jim.

"Hatha?"

"A young doctor who happened to be at the hospital. He was coming home to the States anyway and volunteered to come with us to keep an eye on Blair."

Jim's eyes remained fixed on the Lear's door. He monitored the voices inside and could hear footsteps nearing the stairs to come down. "And the jet?"

"I made some calls," Eli said vaguely. "Wilkinson Industries was doing some business in the capital city. Mr. Wilkinson remembered what you and Blair did for him some years back and volunteered the use of his jet. I'm not sure we would have made it back in time without it."

"In time?" Jim's voice caught on the tightness in his throat.

Eli looked at him sadly. "I fear the situation is grave. Three times, I thought we'd lost Blair. The fever was so high, and he was so weak. I don't know that he could have lived through several connecting flights to get back here."

There was a commotion in the doorway of the plane as a stretcher was eased slowly down the stairs, one man at each end. Jim stopped himself at the end of the stairs, waiting impatiently.

"They're doing everything they can for him," Eli said softly from beside him. "We all did everything we could."

Jim nodded blindly, unable to see anything but the pale face on the stretcher. The Sentinel automatically tuned in to his Guide's heart, and his breath caught in this chest. Something was terribly wrong.

At last, the men eased the stretcher to the ground. "I'm Dr. Hatha..."

Jim ignored the hand reaching toward him, leaning instead over the still body covered by green sheets on the narrow stretcher. "Blair? Can you hear me?"

Tired eyes opened slowly, their lids swollen and red. "J...Jim...?" A tiny smiled curved the corners of Blair's chapped and broken lips as his hand weakly rose upward from beneath the covers.

"Hey, partner," Jim whispered, catching his hand and holding on. The straps binding Blair to the stretcher hadn't included his lower arms, but his upper arms were held firmly at his side. "Welcome home."

Blair nodded once. "Good to see you, man."

Jim smoothed back a stray curl from Blair's forehead, leaving his hand atop his friend's head. "It's good to see you, too. You had me worried, Chief."

The EMR tech waiting behind Jim broke in. "We need to transport. Dr. Hatha, will you be going to deliver the films and reports to the attending at Cascade General?"

Jim didn't hear the rest of the conversation. In a few seconds he would be forced to once again turn his Guide over to others for his care. Bending down low, Jim whispered, "You hang in there, do you hear me, Blair?"

The doubt mixed with regret in Blair's eyes was horrible to behold. "I'll try," he whispered back, squeezing Jim's hand weakly. "It's just...not good, Jim."

What the hell was Sandburg trying to tell him? The weakness and trembling in the hand holding his, the sadness in the familiar blue eyes, the doubt in Blair's voice spoke all too clearly of resignation. Sure, he'd had a rough time, but Blair was home now. He was going to a first rate hospital to recover.

Everything would be fine.

Wouldn't it?

No question. Blair would recover. He had to. No other alternative was acceptable.

An instant later, he was displaced from Blair's side as the medical workers took over. He felt Eli's hand on his arm, but his attention was focused only on Sandburg.

"Jim? Jim?" Eli raised his voice, capturing his attention at last. "We can't ride in the ambulance. Where are you parked?"

As Blair was loaded into the waiting ambulance, Jim acknowledged the professor's question. "Out front. Let's go. I'll drive."

********************

The examination and discussion of Sandburg's case seemed to go on forever. Dr. Hatha had been led away immediately to confer with the covey of doctors who flocked around the patient the moment his stretcher came through the door. In an attempt to follow, Jim made it through the doors marked 'No Admittance', but Eli convinced him to listen to the charge nurse and wait in the waiting area.

That had been a couple of hours ago.

"What the hell is taking so long?" Jim muttered for the tenth time since they'd taken up their positions in the hard plastic waiting room chairs.

He'd run Eli off already. The older man had been exhausted, barely able to stay awake. Jim had promised to call if there were any changes.

So he waited alone.

That was as it should be. The danger to Sandburg was too personal, too potentially devastating, to be shared with even good friends like Eli or Simon. For now, Jim was thankful to wait in the deserted room by himself, alone with his fears.

A good portion of Jim's life had been spent alone. Before Sandburg, he'd never thought of living life any other way. Marriage certainly hadn't worked for him, and at his age, a roommate was a joke. Until Blair...

And now the thought of living his life without the younger man at his side was unbearable. Sandburg had to get better. He had to.

The hour hand on the metal clock positioned slightly off-center above the door had just hit four a.m. when a figure in a white coat appeared. "Detective Ellison?"

Jim scrambled to his feet. "I'm Jim Ellison."

"I'm Zachary Ryan. I'm heading up the team working on Dr. Sandburg."

"The team?"

Dr. Ryan glanced around the waiting room with obvious distaste. In his late forties, Jim judged from the salt and pepper hair and the deep creases around his brown eyes. With an obvious athlete's build and standing a few inches taller than Jim, Ryan struck Jim as the kind of guy he was glad was on Blair's side. He trusted this man immediately, and in Jim's life, that didn't happen often.

Ryan smiled. "Look, this isn't the best of places to talk. Feel like stepping into my office? We really need to go over a few things."

Jim agreed and followed the doctor down the hall and into a comfortable, but unpretentious, office. Paneled in dark oak, and featuring bookcases crammed with text and reference books, a couple of brass floor lamps added a warm glow to the room. Jim eased into an overstuffed chair across from Dr. Ryan's desk. Instead of taking his place behind the big desk, Ryan settled into the chair next to Jim. Again, Jim decided he liked the man.

Ryan regarded him for a moment thoughtfully. "Blair - Dr. Sandburg - feels very close to you. I always try to find out as much as possible about my patients before we get too far into their treatment. When I offered to contact family for him, he just asked if you were here. When I said that you were, he murmured that you were all he needed. I believe he meant that literally as well as figuratively."

"We are close," Jim answered carefully. "Blair works with me at the department. He's also my roommate and closest friend."

The doctor nodded. "Good. He's going to need someone who'll be there for him during the difficult days ahead. He's decided not to call in his mother at this time, so I'm glad you seem willing to be his family right now."

"I am his family," Jim said bluntly. "Please, tell me what's going on."

Patiently, Dr. Ryan began. "Blair was infected with a very rare bacteria while in Africa. It spreads quickly and attacks viciously. The shots he received before leaving the U.S. should have protected him, but for some reason, he was left at the bacteria's mercy."

"This particular strain of bacteria causes symptoms that are extremely virulent. His fever hovered around 104 for days, sometimes spiking even higher. The bacteria itself began attacking the various systems of his body, and he experienced severe pain and nausea as a result. The body cannot cope with such an attack for a sustained period without sustaining damage."

Fighting to take it all in and make sense of what he was hearing, Jim asked, "Damage? What kind of damage are we talking about?"

Ryan sighed. "First, you should know that the bacteria itself has been eradicated. They followed the proper protocol down in Africa, starting Blair on infusions of the most powerful antibiotics at their disposal. That alone saved his life and may have kept the damage from being widespread. As it is, we're looking at major damage to two areas..." The doctor's voice faded away, and his gaze fell from Jim's for the first time.

"And they are...?" Jim prompted, dreading hearing the truth, yet needing to know at the same time.

Again, Ryan met his eyes. "First, his kidneys have all but shut down. I'd hoped they might resume functioning, but it just doesn't appear that's going to happen."

Jim swallowed hard. "So what will you do?"

"We'll get him on dialysis tomorrow. However, in his weakened condition, that's not going to present a viable long-term solution. We can only hope it will keep him going long enough for a transplant."

"Transplant?" Jim croaked. Oh, God. This couldn't be happening.

Ryan nodded. "They are very successful. With any luck at all, an appropriate donor kidney can be found. I already have his name on the list and..."

"How long does it usually take?"

"There's no way to know. Frankly, in this country, we're always in need of donated organs. On any given day, approximately 40,000 people are waiting for a donated kidney. Every fifteen minutes, a new name is added to the waiting list. What's sad is that people die every day without having signed a donation consent card, and their perfectly useful organs - kidneys, hearts, corneas... - go with them to the grave. All the while, those patients whose lives would be saved may die because there just weren't enough organs to go around. In this country, between twelve to fourteen people die while waiting for a transplant."

Jim shook his head. "Not Blair..."

"We're hopeful," Dr. Ryan assured him. "In his condition, he's right at the top of the list, and these transplants have a very high success rate - about 80 - 97%. Also, we need to run tests on any friends and relatives willing to consider becoming a living donor."

Reeling, Jim asked, "Living donor?"

"A person can survive with only one kidney. If we don't find an appropriate donor through conventional channels, a willing donor might be found among Dr. Sandburg's friends or family."

"He has a world of friends," Jim murmured. Then he remembered with something the doctor had said earlier. "You said two areas were damaged."

Ryan hesitated. "Yes..."

"Tell me," Jim said quietly, fighting to control the fear building inside of him. If Ryan had saved the really bad news for last...

"It's his heart."

Jim shut his eyes, tilting his head back. "No..."

"As you know, the heart is a muscle. The fever, combined with the bacteria in his body, damaged a substantial portion of his heart muscle, rendering it useless. I'm somewhat hopeful that the remaining healthy portion of his heart will be able to sustain his life, much as people are able to live for years with the majority of their arteries blocked."

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. "And if not..."

"We're looking at another transplant."

"A heart transplant?" Jim croaked, his voice all but failing. "You'd take out his heart and give him someone else's?"

"A healthy donor organ," Dr. Ryan said gently. "We've had much greater success with these transplants in recent years. The damage to other areas of his body - to other organs - appears minimal, based on the tests we've run tonight. With any luck, his body would accept the donor tissue and he could have a relatively normal life. There would be anti-rejection drugs, follow-up tests, and a donor heart probably won't buy him his full life-expectancy. It's not a perfect solution, but it does hold out hope."

Jim opened his eyes and stared at Ryan. "But that...the heart transplant...may not be needed."

Dr. Ryan shrugged. "We just don't know yet. I hope not. But you needed to know that the possibility is there."

"Does Blair know all this?"

"Of course. I've already covered everything with him. He asked me to explain it all to you. Said he didn't know if he could get through that."

Jim nodded. "May I see him?"

Ryan stood up and opened his office door. "Of course. He's in a regular room now. I've already given orders that you may stay as long as you'd like. I'm a firm believer in the power of family and friends to pull a patient through the tough times. It seems to me, Detective, that you're about as good a friend as any patient could ask for."

********************

Jim slipped into room 609, pulling the heavy door closed quietly behind him. The room was semi-darkened with only the eerie green lights of the numerous machines connected to the patient providing light. His training as a medic combined with his experience as the Sentinel of a trouble-prone Guide allowed him to take in the readings on the machines quickly. For now, at least, Sandburg was in no immediate danger.

Quietly, Jim moved the only chair in the room from the corner closer to the single bed. He eased down, studying Blair's face. He was much too thin, very pale, and dark circles were etched beneath his eyes. Jim swallowed hard and leaned forward as he focused his hearing on the beating of his partner's heart. While the beat sounded regular enough, there was something...off...about it.

No! He must be imagining it, letting what Dr. Ryan had told him play tricks with his hearing. Blair's heart was normal. Perfect. He wouldn't let it be otherwise.

Determined, Jim focused harder on the sound of his friend's heart. As much as he longed to discover that he was right, that he'd merely imagined the abnormality he thought he'd heard, Jim soon had to surrender to the truth.

"Ahhh, Blair," he breathed. "Damn it, kid."

Jim listened for another few minutes, struggling to fit the new, unfamiliar sound with his Guide.

"Hey," a soft voice called. "You okay, Jim? Don't zone on me right now, man. I'm not real sure I'm up to bringing you back."

Jim dialed back his hearing and switched his focus from the disturbing heartbeat to his friend's teasing voice. Blair actually sounded almost normal.

Forcing a smile, Jim pulled the chair closer. "Hey, Chief. Thought you were asleep."

Blair reached up and tugged his pillow higher. "Raise my head a little, would you?"

Carefully, Jim manipulated the controls on the side of the bed rail so the head of the bed raised upward. "You warm enough?" he asked.

"Yeah. For once."

Lowering the rail, Jim perched on the side of the bed. "Chief, I..." Looking down into the expressive blue eyes, words failed him. "I...I don't know what to say. I'm so damned sorry about all this."

"Hey, man. There's no way you can shoulder the blame for this one, so don't even try. This is not your fault," Blair said forcefully, staring intently into Jim's eyes. "Got that? It's not your fault."

Jim scrubbed his eyes quickly with his fists. Damn, he was tired. Wearily, he shook his head. "I'm not so sure. I should have been there..."

"Damn it, Jim, we're not joined at the hip! You have your life, and I have mine. Sure, they intersect at lots of points, but still, I do have a career that's totally separate from the department. You have interests I don't share. There was absolutely no reason for you to go with me, and even if you had, there wasn't a thing you could have done to prevent my getting sick."

Jim's first instinct was to pull back, but just as he started to stand up, Blair reached out and clasped Jim's hand in his. "I don't need you pulling an Ellison emotional disappearing act on me right now, understand? That's how you usually handle your guilt, right? Withdraw and pull into your shell. Well, that just won't fly here, Jim."

His voice, already weak, faltered. "I need you. Probably more than I've ever needed you. Can you handle that? If you can't, then I need to know now."

Jim stared at Blair. The last thing he'd expected had been a lecture from his seriously ill Guide. He felt the small hairs on the back of his neck bristle, a sure sign of impending anger. Forcing himself to take a few slow breaths, Jim thought about what Blair had just said. He'd made some valid points. "You're right, Blair. This isn't time for a guilt trip, and there wasn't anything I could have done if I had been there. What we've got to do is focus on getting you well."

Blair's hand tightened around his, and Jim could feel the strange rhythm of his Guide's heart in his pulse. "Dr. Ryan told me everything. You know, too. I may not..."

"No." Jim shook his head firmly. "Don't you dare say it."

"But Jim, we've gotta face facts here. If I die, then..."

"Stop it!" Jim snapped out the order, knowing he was being a jerk for barking at a sick man. But he would let Blair talk that way. He couldn't give up, not when there was so damned much at stake. "We're a long way from that. They're starting dialysis with you tomorrow..."

"Which is only a temporary fix."

How the hell was Sandburg staying so calm? "Then we do the transplant. Dr. Ryan's not giving up, Chief, and I sure as hell won't give up on you."

Patiently, Blair said quietly, "I'm not giving up, man. I just want you prepared for the worst. I...I'm not feeling well at all, Jim. There's something not right inside...with my heart...with my body...I'm feeling really strange, and it scares me."

What could he say to that? Looking into those emotion-drenched pools of blue, there was no room for anything less than the truth. "I'm scared, too, Junior. But you're a courageous man. I've seen that courage too many times. We've got options here, so until those options are exhausted, we don't give up the fight. That's all I'm asking, Chief. Just keep fighting, keep hanging on, until we find what works. Can you do that? For yourself? For me?"

Their eyes locked, Blair was silent for a long time. Jim could see the soul-searching that was taking place within his tired, sick, and discouraged Guide. At last, Blair said quietly, "I was just trying to hold on long enough to make it back here, to see you again. Then I figured I could let go. Then something began to help - the antibiotics, I guess - and the fever went down. I started to believe I might be okay. But tonight, Dr. Ryan told me about my kidneys and my heart, and I wasn't so sure any more."

"And now?" Jim asked, resting one hand on the slim shoulder beneath the hospital gown. Never known to fit properly, the gown had slipped slightly, so his hand rested halfway on Blair's cool bare skin.

"Now you're here." Blair grinned, and that smile looked so much like the old Blair that it tore at Jim's soul. "You have this way of inspiring the best in people, you know? The best in me. Now, I'm thinking maybe, just maybe, I'll make it through after all."

Relief flooded Jim, and his answering smile was warm. "Good. You hold on to that feeling, okay?"

Blair nodded.

Jim brought up a subject he'd tried to avoid. "We need to try to find your mother. Any idea where she might be?"

Blair shook his head. "No. She called right before I left. As far as she knows, I'm still in Africa. I doubt I'll hear from her anytime soon."

Inwardly, Jim cursed Blair's free-spirited, Peter Pan mother. It's all well and good to choose never to grow up, Naomi. Works out just great for you, but Blair could use you now, and you're nowhere to be found. You might just be the donor he needs, and you're off on some mountaintop looking for spiritual enlightenment!

"It's just her way, man," Blair said softly. "Don't be mad."

Seeing the tired eyes blink rapidly in an obvious effort to remain open, Jim's frustration with Naomi faded. "I'll try some of her friends' numbers, just in case someone knows where she is. Don't worry about it. You need to rest. You've had a rough few days."

He stood up, adjusting the covers high on Sandburg's chest for warmth. "You comfortable? Need anything?"

"Sip of water?"

Finding the small plastic pitcher next to the bed, Jim poured a little into a cup, inserted a straw, and held it to his partner's lips. Blair sipped some, then leaned back heavily into the bed, as if that small effort had completely exhausted him. "Thanks," he said sleepily. "Go home. Get some rest yourself."

Putting the cup back on the rolling table beside Blair, Jim said casually, "Maybe later. I went back to the loft and napped while you were flying in. I'm fine right here."

Apparently Sandburg either bought the lie or he was too tired to argue. Nodding slightly, his eyes slowly closed. " 'kay, Jim. Think I'll...rest a...little now."

Easing back into his chair next to Blair's bedside, Jim said softly, "I'll be right here, Chief."

Blair's body twitched slightly, and Jim knew sleep was already claiming him for what remained of the night. Leaning back in the thinly padded chair, the Sentinel began the first of what he knew would be many vigils over his sleeping Guide.

********************

The next morning, Jim settled into the chair across from Dr. Ryan's desk. When the doctor had requested a meeting with him, a meeting that would not include Blair, Jim's anxiety had increased. Now that their meeting was at hand, he faced it with mixed emotions. Perhaps the news would be good, but he couldn't quite fathom the reason for excluding Blair, if that was the case.

He didn't want to consider the remaining alternative.

As Ryan entered the room, Jim took his measure and confirmed the opinion he'd already formed. He liked the man. Ryan appeared to be a competent physician, genuinely caring about his patient's health. Plus, he seemed to understand Jim's concern for Blair...and his fear.

Ryan settled into his chair, leaning back, a man at ease in his world. Jim caught the concerned look in the doctor's eyes. "It's time we start asking Blair's friends and relatives to be tested as possible donors."

"You've given up on finding a donor?"

"No, not at all. Dialysis will buy us some time. A living donor may not be necessary in Blair's case, but I'd like to do the lab work early. See if we can find a willing donor. Then, if a cadaver donor organ cannot be located, we'll be ready to proceed and not waste valuable time. Time that might mean the difference between life and death for Blair."

"What's the first step?" Jim's words were clipped and efficient. This was no time for pleasantries, and both men realized it.

"Get on the phone. Contact everyone you know who might be a match and be willing to donate. Remember, it's not an easy thing you're asking. It's major surgery, and there are definite risks. Those who are willing need to get to the hospital immediately for the blood work. Does he have relatives nearby?"

Naomi. He'd tried all the numbers he had for her friends the evening before and during the morning, but the search had been fruitless. No one knew a thing about Naomi's whereabouts. There was zero chance she was close enough to make a difference at this point.

"No. Nobody close by."

"Okay. Then round up any volunteers you can. Have them report to the outpatient lab on the first floor. All they need to tell the receptionist is that they're there for the Sandburg testing."

"Do we tell him?"

Dr. Ryan smiled. "You know him best. What do you think?"

No point considering that question. "Not yet. He would hate the idea, and right now, I don't think he needs anything else to worry about. If we find a living donor and it comes down to that, we'll tell him then." After considering Blair's reaction to the news that a friend was sacrificing a part of his body to save his life, Jim added, "If we have to. It would probably be easier for everyone if he never knew exactly how he got his transplant."

********************

A few hours later, the long days of treatment, tests, and waiting began. Blair's first dialysis went well, and Jim grew hopeful. If Blair's weakened body tolerated the artificial cleansing of dialysis long enough, surely a suitable donated kidney could be found.

Simon and Daryl arrived while Blair was going through his first dialysis session, one that would last longer than normal as the process was explained to Sandburg. Jim had gone downstairs to the cafeteria for an early lunch, determined to be back in Blair's room to greet his friend when he returned.

"The nurse said we'd find you here," Simon greeted Jim as he and Daryl brought their trays to the table for four by the window where Jim was already eating. Daryl's plate was piled high with the thick gooey pizza that was today's special.

Jim was glad to see the familiar faces. "Thanks for coming by, guys. Pull up a chair."

The food was decent, and as they ate, conversation centered around happenings that day at the station. Jim knew he had to fill Simon in on Blair's condition eventually, but it was good to be able to eat without talking about the risky state of his partner's health.

But at last, dessert had been finished, and Simon's expression turned serious. "How is he, Jim?"

Daryl looked almost queasy by the time Jim had carefully explained everything he knew about Blair's condition. "You...you're saying he could die!" the young college student blurted out.

"Daryl..." Simon cautioned his son with a quick squeeze of his upper arm and a worried glance at Jim.

"Yes, he could," Jim confirmed, trying to ignore the hard knot of pain in his gut Daryl's words had induced. It wasn't the boy's fault. He and Blair were friends. Daryl had looked up to Blair, admired him, ever since the excitable, intelligent and compassionate anthropologist first showed up at the station. If anyone deserved to know the truth, it was Daryl.

"The doctors are hopeful that the dialysis will keep him going long enough for a donor organ to be found. It's just that he's so weak right now, his body's so stressed, that they don't know how long he'll be able to tolerate dialysis. That's why it's important to find a kidney for Blair soon."

"And there aren't enough donors to go around," Daryl commented wisely. "I did a paper on it my senior year. Lots of patients die every day just because not enough people sign organ donation cards or have it marked on their driver's license. Our class had a big discussion about it, and most of us had our licenses changed to reflect our choice to become donors. I just never thought I'd know someone who needed a donation." Daryl's sad brown eyes looked at Jim. "I'm sorry, Jim."

Touched by the young man's sincerity and concern, Jim forced a smile. "Blair's going to be all right, Daryl. We're not going to think anything else, right?"

Simon interjected, "Jim? How long does the dialysis last? Daryl and I would like to see Blair, but I have to get back to work..."

Jim checked his watch. "They should be wrapping it up any time now. Why don't we go up to his room and wait?"

The walk to the elevator was as good a time as ever. "Listen, guys. Dr. Ryan has a back-up plan..."

By the time Jim finished explaining, both Daryl and Simon were nodded. Without consulting his father, Daryl volunteered, "Count us in!"

Jim looked at his boss and friend, not sure how Simon would react to his son's enthusiastic offer. He needn't have been concerned.

"What he said," Simon said, obviously emotional. "Just tell us what to do."

Words failing him, Jim just nodded. He'd been right all those years ago. It really was all about friendship.

********************

Jim enjoyed watching Blair and Daryl together. Sandburg was filling the young college student in on some of the professors he would be taking for courses in the upcoming semester.

"Watch out for Englemann, Daryl. That guy loves to assign research topics to his students, then when the work's nearly done, he changes horses in mid-stream and assigns a totally different topic. He's your typical disorganized professor type, but you shouldn't have a tough time in his class, as long as you make sure you clarify the assignments."

As the two younger men talked about the pros and cons of Rainier's professors, Simon asked Jim, "Will you be coming in tomorrow?"

Jim shot a quick glance at Blair. "No, I don't think so. Probably not for a while. I know it's putting you in a bind, sir, but I think I should stick around here and..."

"Jim, no." Blair interrupted sharply, his blue eyes concerned. "You need to get on back to work, man."

Simon leaned back, clearly leaving the decision up to Jim and Blair.

"I think I need to be around for a while, Chief. I'll go back when you're feeling better."

Blair shook his head insistently. "No. This is going to be a long-term thing, man. It could stretch out for weeks...months, maybe. There's no point in you spending your days and nights up here with me." A shadow fell over his face. "Maybe later, if things...don't go well. Then, yeah, I'll want you here, but right now, you need to have a life. A normal life. I don't want to interfere with that, Jim. Okay?"

Jim searched Blair's face carefully. He could see the determination in his partner's eyes, but Blair was still so pale and so weak. "I don't know, Chief..."

"Jim," Simon spoke up. "I think Sandburg has a point. He may need you more later on. Maybe it's best that you keep your life as normal as possible while you can. I can work you on a short-shift, if you prefer. That way, unless something is breaking that we really need you there for, you can cut out a few hours early each day."

"Please, Jim," Blair added. "I really want you to get back to your life. I promise if something goes wrong, I'll have them call you. Besides, man, there's only so much togetherness either of us can take, right?"

He didn't like it, but then, Jim didn't like anything that was happening right now. "Okay," he conceded at last. "We'll try it. I'll go in tomorrow morning, Simon, but I want time to run by here first. I'll work until about 5:30. I'd like to be done by then to spend the evening here."

Simon nodded agreement. "That works for me." Turning to his son, he said, "Daryl, I've got to get back, and you have a class this afternoon, right?"

"Yeah. I've got chemistry at 4:00 with Layton." Daryl got up and went over to Blair's bedside. "You hang in there, Blair. I want to take Anthro 101 next year, and you're the only professor I intend to have for that one."

Blair grinned broadly, and then he held out his hand. Daryl took it and shook it firmly. "You've got a deal, Daryl. You and I have a date for Introduction to Anthropology next year. But don't expect me to cut you any slack. You're gonna work your butt off."

Daryl laughed. "Wouldn't want it any other way, Blair. See ya!"

After they'd departed, Jim pulled up a chair beside Blair. "How'd the dialysis go?"

Blair sighed. "Okay, I guess. Kinda boring. I mean, you just lie there, hooked up to all the equipment. I need to bring a book or something."

"Well, maybe you won't have to go through it too long. There's bound to be a donor kidney that will turn up soon."

"I hope so. I'm ready to get out of here and go home, but Dr. Ryan won't even consider that until I build up my strength."

Jim hated to ask, but the question couldn't be ignored. "What about your heart?"

Blair shrugged and wouldn't meet Jim's eyes. He picked at a loose thread on his blanket. "I dunno. Right now, he thinks it's holding its own. If I get my kidney, that should help. There's been damage, but maybe it won't really matter. My heart may be able to keep on working even with the damage. We'll just have to see."

"So nothing's really changed," Jim mused. "That's good, I guess."

Blair chuckled, looking up at Jim. "Yeah. I had a statistics professor who used to say, 'A difference isn't a difference unless a difference makes a difference.' "

"What the hell does that mean?" Jim returned Blair's smile, glad to see his friend smile once again.

"It means that you can have a change, but unless it matters - unless it makes a difference - it doesn't really count. Maybe the damage to my heart will be just that - a difference that doesn't make any difference at all."

The hope in Blair's voice was painful to hear. Jim reached out and rested his hand on Blair's arm. "That sounds good to me, buddy. Really good."

He hesitated a moment, then Jim asked, "Blair? I've been trying to contact Naomi. None of her friends knows anything, but she's going to have my head when she finds out we weren't able to let her know what's going on."

Blair's shoulders shrugged slightly. "It's okay. I'm just as glad."

"Why? She's your mom. You know she'd want to be here with you during this."

"I know, but right now..." Blair shut his eyes for a few moments, then opened them to look earnestly up at Jim.

"Right now, though, I need to do what's right for me, and honestly, I just don't think I could deal with my mom just now. You know Naomi. She'd come in here wanting to try all sorts of natural, homeopathic treatments. I know she means well, and I do agree with a lot of what she believes, but this time, my hope lies with modern medicine. I wouldn't want to hurt her, and..." He stopped, his eyes closing again.

"And what, Chief?" Jim asked gently.

Blair looked up at him again. "I don't want you to have to deal with her either, Jim. We're both under tons of stress right now, and I don't think we need the pressure of Naomi just now. Besides, I really don't know for sure how to reach her. If she calls then you can tell her. I don't want you to lie. Just...just don't try anymore to find her, okay? I want to face this my way. Okay?"

Jim hesitated. Naomi was devoted to Blair, but he had a point. The woman could get on your nerves in a hurry, and she would definitely want to try some of her healing herbs and energies with Blair. Bottom line - she was Blair's mom. If he didn't want to continue trying to track her down then the decision was his.

"Okay, Chief. You've got it. We'll wait until you've got the whole thing licked, then we'll find her and let Naomi know all is well."

He just hoped his friend was making the right decision.

********************

For a week, the dialysis treatments continued. Jim kept his word, going in for what amounted to three-quarter days. He stopped by every morning and ate a quick breakfast with Sandburg, usually a bagel or doughnut with coffee that he picked up at the bakery near the loft. By six o'clock at the latest, he was normally with Blair again, where he stayed until ten o'clock when he headed back to the loft for some rest.

The days weren't easy, but at least, Sandburg was holding his own.

Until the eighth day...

Jim was riding with Joel, heading toward the courthouse where they were meeting with the assistant D.A. about an ongoing case. Six blocks away, Jim's cell phone rang. Joel glanced over from his position in the driver's seat of his dark sedan. "Better get that. Might be the phone," he quipped.

Jim grimaced. "Funny. Just because you refuse to carry one." He dug his phone from his pocket.

"I find the police radio more than effective enough for my job," Joel defended himself.

"Ellison," Jim answered, deciding it wasn't worth arguing with Joel.

"Jim?"

"Blair?" Jim's heart sank. Something was definitely wrong. He had to turn up his Sentinel hearing to pick up the next words.

"I need you..."

********************

He sprinted down the hall, a man possessed. Joel was parking the car and calling Simon. Jim slowed when he got to Blair's doorway, opening it slowly and peering inside. "Chief?"

The equipment surrounding the bed had doubled. He could barely find Blair beneath the array of tubes and machines weaving in and out all around the bed. A nurse was recording information on a clipboard, and Dr. Ryan was leaning over Blair, adjusting the oxygen tubes in his nose.

The doctor turned at the sound of Jim's voice. "Detective Ellison. I'm glad you're here."

"What's going on?" Jim moved carefully through the maze of equipment to Blair's side. His friend's eyes were shut, and his face was pasty. A thin sheen covered his pale skin. "Chief?" he whispered. "Can you hear me?"

"He lost consciousness right after we allowed him to call you. He's been drifting in and out ever since." Dr. Ryan motioned to Jim. "Let's step out in the hall."

Jim hesitated, one hand on Blair's shoulder. Seeing his indecision, the doctor spoke to the nurse. "Marie? We're just going out into the hallway. Would you stay in here with Blair and let us know if there's any change?"

"Of course," the young woman answered pleasantly.

"Let's go, Jim," Dr. Ryan said kindly. "This won't take long."

Reluctantly, Jim left Blair's side and followed the doctor into the hall.

"There's a small room right next door. Let's use it." Without waiting for Jim's consent, Ryan led the way to the empty waiting room.

Once they were seated, the doctor didn't waste time. "His body is no longer tolerating the dialysis. We'd hoped we'd get good results from it for a longer period of time, but he was already too weakened from the virus and high fever."

"Both kidneys are completely shutting down. If we don't get a new kidney into Blair soon..."

The look on the doctor's face told Jim the rest. His heart plummeted in his chest, and just taking his next breath seemed as difficult as scaling Everest. "What...? Have you found a donor organ yet?"

Zachary Ryan eyed Jim thoughtfully. "No. Not a cadaver donor, at least."

Immediately, Jim knew what he meant. "The living donor?"

Dr. Ryan nodded. "We have a match. I just got the call from the lab a few minutes ago."

Jim stared at him, unable to ask the question, but the doctor understood without the words.

"I don't know who it is yet. The report's being sent over now. As soon as I've looked it over, I'll be back to let you know the results."

********************

The small group of concerned friends quickly gathered in the waiting room across from Blair's hospital room, summoned by the phone relay Joel had organized in case of an emergency with Blair's condition. Jim stayed with Blair, waiting anxiously for word from Dr. Ryan about the tests.

All of them had been tested - Simon...Joel...Henri...Rafe...Eli Stoddard...and several other friends, coworkers, and officers willing to give a part of themselves to save the young man they'd all come to know and admire.

Jim knew they were there, and he appreciated the show of support more than any of them could imagine. He just couldn't face any of those friends. His place was beside Blair, and until they came to take his Guide to surgery, he didn't intend to leave.

He held Blair's hand within both of his, hoping to reach through the deep sleep that had claimed the younger man since earlier that afternoon. Blair would stir occasionally, but he only stayed awake for a short time. Jim's thumb lightly stroked Blair's hand, the contact as much for himself as for the patient.

The sound of footsteps approaching broke through his thoughts. He recognized the step of Zachary Ryan and looked up as the doctor came through the door.

"We're ready, Jim."

Sliding Blair's hand to the mattress, then gently patting Blair's shoulder, Jim said softly, "I'll be right back, Chief. You hang in there for me." The young man murmured something unintelligible in his sleep and shifted slightly beneath the covers at the loss of contact with his Sentinel.

Marie, the nurse Jim had met earlier, slipped in quietly to stay with Blair while Jim was gone.

"Do you have the news?" Joel asked immediately once Jim and the doctor joined them in the waiting room.

"Yes," Ryan confirmed. "We do. First, it was wonderful to see so many people willing to help this young man. We did get a match - one person who can provide a kidney that will give Blair a very good chance of survival. I'd like to say that finding a donor among a patient's friends is almost unheard of. Dr. Sandburg is a very fortunate man."

Jim shut his eyes in gratitude. He owed someone a huge debt. He opened his eyes to find Dr. Ryan smiling at him.

"Jim, I have a feeling that you will be glad to know that you are the best candidate to provide Blair with the kidney he needs."

He sank into the nearest chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, weak with relief. At last there was something concrete he could do to help. "Thank you. Thank God. When do we do this?"

"Immediately. I'll have Marie bring some forms in for you to sign. You have to know that there are real risks to this, Jim. That if you ever suffer damage to your remaining kidney, you'll be the one needing a transplant."

"Right. I understand." It wouldn't matter how great the risk. The cost of not going through with the donation of one of his kidneys to help Blair would have been infinitely greater. Jim turned to Simon. "I assume getting some time off won't be a problem?"

Banks shook his head. "Not at all."

Dr. Ryan departed to prepare for surgery. As the other willing donors began milling around the small waiting room, Simon drew Jim aside. "Are you sure about this? This isn't a small sacrifice you're making for Sandburg. If you do this, it will have an effect on the rest of your life"

Jim glanced toward Sandburg's door. He needed to get back in there, to try to explain what was about to happen to his friend, assuming Blair would be awake enough to hear him. "I'm certain, Simon." He asked, "Do you remember my telling you about the day I went to Blair's office? The first time we really met?"

Simon said, "Of course. You threw him against the wall, if I recall correctly." He smiled despite the tension of the moment.

Jim grimaced. "Yeah, I did. But after that, he knocked me beneath that damned garbage truck after I zoned in the middle of the street. Blair saved my life the first day we met with absolutely no thought for his own safety."

"And you've saved him numerous times since," Simon pointed out.

Jim looked away from Simon, and his voice was soft. "Tommy Juno said something to my once - about his brother Dylan. 'He wasn't just my brother. He was the other half of my soul'." Jim's voice broke, but Simon could make out the words. "That's what Blair is to me. The other half of my soul. I can't let him die. I won't."

A long minute ticked by, then Jim spoke again, his voice stronger, more in control. "That's how it works, Simon. He's my partner. I want to do this. I want to do more, but right now, this is all I can give. Look at it this way. I'd give my life for Blair. Donating a kidney is pretty simple in comparison."

********************

Jim lowered the bedrail and perched precariously on the side of the narrow mattress. Blair stirred, moaning softly in his sleep.

There wasn't much time. He'd already signed the paperwork, and Jim knew that Blair's signature on consent forms had been obtained days before, in hopeful anticipation of the transplant surgery. They would be coming soon for both of them, and it was important that Blair understood what was about to happen. Although he was tempted not to reveal the identity of the kidney donor, to avoid what was sure to be a painful confrontation, Jim was too honest a man not to tell his best friend the truth.

No matter how hard that might be.

"Sandburg?" Jim called, patting Blair gently on the cheek. "I need you to wake up for me, Chief."

Slowly, weary blue eyes emerged from beneath heavy lids.

"That's it," Jim encouraged. "Got some good news, Darwin."

Blair shook his head weakly. His skin had a slightly yellow color, and Jim felt the clamminess beneath his palm, still cupping Blair's face. He purposefully tuned out the sickening irregularity of his Guide's heartbeat.

One hurdle at a time...

"Really? How long have I been sleeping?"

"Awhile. Listen, we've got a donor. You're getting a new kidney, buddy."

Blair's tired eyes brightened with hope. "That's great...only..."

Jim tilted his head slightly. "What? You're not glad? This is a good thing, Chief."

"Yeah, I know. But someone had to die, Jim. For me to get this new kidney, someone out there lost their life."

A slow smile spread across Jim's face. There was the angle he needed to possibly make the whole thing a little more palatable for Blair. "Well," he drawled. "Not exactly."

Blair's confusion was obvious and immediate. His eyes widened then narrowed in suspicion. "Then how...?"

"They call it a living donor transplant. You only need one kidney to live, right?"

"Oh..." Blair thought for a moment. "I hadn't thought of that. Are there donor lists for that kind of transplant? Wouldn't it be strange if it turned out to be someone I know?"

Jim shrugged. "You know him pretty well, actually. Could say you two are really tight." He moved his hand from Blair's cheek to grasp his hand and squeeze.

Realization dawned slowly, and Jim watched the emotions fly like clouds on a breezy day across Sandburg's face. Despite his weakened condition, Blair's objections were unexpectedly vehement. "Oh, no! No, man. You can't do this. What if...what if something happened later on to your remaining kidney? Then you'd need a transplant. We have no idea how you might respond to that. Your body might be more likely to reject or..."

"Shhhh..." Jim placed two fingers lightly over Blair's lips and held them there, pressing him into silence. "You listen to me. This isn't a debate, kid. I am doing this, and there's not an argument you can think of that will change my mind."

Hating to resort to the harsh words, yet knowing he had to convince his Guide of the rightness of his actions, Jim said firmly, "You're dying, Blair. I would do anything in my power to prevent that. If giving up a kidney will keep you alive, that's not a tough decision at all. If something happens to me later, we'll deal with that then. Right now, it's your life on the line. And you cannot tell me that if the situation was reversed, if I needed your kidney to live, that you would have a moment's hesitation. You'd do it in an instant, and you know it." He voice gentled as he added, "So don't try to deny me the chance to do the same thing for you. I'm doing this. Bottom line. No argument, no appeal."

Tears welled in the expressive blue eyes that were locked with Jim's. Beneath his fingers, Blair nodded at last, and Jim let his hand slip to cup Blair's face again. "I'm going to be fine, Junior. You know I'm too tough to let something like this do me in." He patted Blair's cheek affectionately. "I've faced way worse, kid."

"Yeah," Blair whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "I know." He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his hospital gown. "Damn it...I never can win an argument with you, Ellison. Not when it really counts. I don't know what to say..."

There was a light rap at the door, and two nurses, accompanied by several orderlies, filed in.

"Looks like it's time, Chief," Jim said with a warm smile. Jim leaned down close to Blair's ear. "You don't have to say anything," he added softly so only Blair could hear. "Just get better. That's all."

********************

Simon's attention was divided between the two patients lying silently side-by-side in the double hospital room. He had been making bets with himself about who would wake up first, Jim or Blair. His latest money was on Jim. He'd shown more signs of awareness, and the man had that damned protective streak where Sandburg's welfare was concerned. No, Jim wouldn't be out of it any longer than necessary, not with Blair's health in such jeopardy.

When the Sentinel's bleary eyes blinked open at last, Simon congratulated himself on placing an astute wager.

"Welcome back to the land of the living." Simon held out a spoonful of ice chips, and Jim sucked a couple before answering.

"Sandburg?" His voice was raspy, but his eyes were intently focused on his Guide in the next bed.

"You both came through with flying colors. Dr. Ryan was in here about an hour ago. He said Sandburg's vitals were good, already stronger than before the surgery. They've already started him on the anti-rejection meds, and he shows no sign of rejection so far."

Simon laughed quietly at the thought that had just occurred to him. "You know he won't reject any part of you, Jim, and the kid's a hell of a lot tougher than we sometimes give him credit for. Either that, or he was scared not to be okay, knowing you'd be madder than hell if he wasn't. I know I hate to face you when you're angry." His smile belayed the teasing tone of his voice. "Blair's okay, Jim. Thanks to you."

There was no mistaking the huge sigh of relief that followed those words. "Thank God," Jim breathed. "Do you think he'll be awake soon?"

"He is awake. Now," grumbled Blair in the same raspy voice as Jim. "Simon, got any more of that ice?"

After Blair had soothed his throat with the ice, he asked, "Jim? You okay?"

"Fine, Chief. A little sore and a lot sleepy, but otherwise, I'm good. How about you?"

"I feel like some mule kicked me in the gut, but I guess that's to be expected." He held up a button hooked up to his IV. "The nurse explained before the surgery about this pain button. I can hit it whenever I need an extra jolt of the juice."

Jim grinned. "She showed me, too, but I have the pain dials. Think I'll rely on them."

Simon shook his head. "A Sentinel with his pain dials turned to low and Sandburg with a supply of morphine. I'm not sure which is scarier." He stood up and stretched. "If you two are set for the rest of the day, I'm heading to the station. Joel was covering for me until one or both of you were awake enough to take care of yourselves."

Jim shot Blair a glance. Already there was more color in his face, and his eyes were fairly alert, considering the drugs in his system. Hope rose like a flame within him. "We're okay, Simon. Thanks."

"And tell everyone who volunteered to help thanks for me, too, okay? That includes you, Simon. Jim said you took the test to be a donor, too."

Banks' face grew stern. "I just knew how it would affect Jim if something happened to you, Sandburg. I was merely trying to protect the interests of my best detective and my team."

"Right," Blair said with a broad grin. "Thanks, Simon. Really."

Simon opened the door and stepped halfway into the hall. "I'll check on you this evening. Daryl said he wanted to stop by, too, if you're up to it."

"Bring him on," Blair agreed. "I'm ready to talk about something other than sickness and surgeries."

When Simon left, closing the door behind him, Jim turned to Blair. "How do you really feel?"

For a long moment, Blair seemed to be taking inventory. "Stronger. Better. I think this is going to work, Jim. I owe you, man. Big time."

"You don't owe me a thing, Blair. Not a thing." And it was true. The reality was that Jim owed Blair more than he could ever repay. Not that real friends kept track of such things. If Blair could only recover, get well again, the offering of one single kidney would be a small price to pay.

********************

One Week Later...

"Oh, man, it's good to be home!" Blair looked around the loft, a huge grin plastered on his face.

Jim emerged from Blair's room where he'd dropped the younger man's bag, packed just that morning in the hospital. "I'm sure. After all, you were gone for almost five weeks in Africa. You were in the hospital about a week before the transplant, then a week after." He calculated quickly. "All in all, it's been seven weeks since you were home."

Blair moved to look out the windows at the city lying beyond. "There were a few times I wasn't sure if I'd make it home," he admitted.

"Well, you're back now. Dr. Ryan says there's no reason you can't go back to work, as long as you stay on your meds and pace yourself. And go in for your check-ups."

Jim stood beside his friend, gazing outward. The mid-afternoon sun created a sea of dancing diamonds on the water lying beyond the city. "He's still concerned about your heart." God, he hated saying those words.

"My heart's fine," Blair retorted. "My new kidney - our kidney - is functioning perfectly, and as far as I'm concerned, this whole ordeal is over."

Jim clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the attitude, Chief. Keep it positive. You ready for some lunch?"

As he went into the kitchen to begin preparations for lunch, Jim sent up a little prayer that Blair would be proven right - that the ordeal really was behind them. His own recovery had been smooth. Besides the initial soreness, Jim had felt few effects from the surgery. Of course, his pain dials had helped.

Now, if Sandburg could just have the same luck.

He tried to ignore the little voice whispering that nothing with Sandburg was ever so simple.

********************

And for a time, it seemed that the voice was wrong.

Blair picked up a reduced workload at Rainier, and he even began to come in to work at the station for a couple of hours a day. The bullpen crew was delighted to have the young man back in their midst, and for two weeks, Blair didn't have to buy a single lunch.

Jim tried not to hover. That was not an easy task. One of Sandburg's theories he'd never taken issue with was that he had been genetically programmed to protect his Guide. With Blair's health still an issue, it took a ton of self-restraint for Jim not to overprotect.

The hours he spent at the station while his partner worked at Rainier stretched on forever. The first few days, Jim had called Blair's office almost every hour on the hour. But a heated lecture from the professor had ended that. Jim resorted to clock-watching until Blair checked in or walked in the bullpen door. His Sentinel instincts definitely did not approve of the separation from his Guide at this vulnerable time in Sandburg's life.

But Blair seemed to be doing fine, Jim had to admit. His color was good, and his energy and stamina, while not nearly at the level they once were, had increased somewhat since his release from the hospital. As long as he took an afternoon nap and went to bed at a decent hour, Sandburg seemed to hold up fine with his light work schedule.

Still, a nagging voice taunted Jim. His heart is damaged. Shouldn't he be gaining even more strength? Why does he still take a nap every day? There's something wrong, and you know it. You can hear it; you can sense it. Sentinel, protect your Guide!

That voice was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

********************

The hunter cornered his prey. Panting, its head hanging low, the wolf stood with its back against a solid wall of rock. There was nowhere to run. Slowly, the hunter raised his crossbow, the gleaming tip of the arrow aimed true at the wolf's heart.

Above, on a cliff overlooking the river, the jaguar pulled up from a full run. The scene below burned itself cruelly into his mind. There was no way to get there in time. No way to save the wolf. With his ebony head raised in supplication to the heavens, the jaguar screamed his desperate, angry roar.

Distracted for a moment from his deadly task, the hunter looked up, spied the jaguar, and smiled.

As the feline stared down into the eyes of the hunter and realized his terrible identity, it screamed again, this time in heartbroken despair.

The face of the hunter was a gleaming skull - the face of death.

********************

Jim awoke in a sweat, sitting bolt upright in bed, his heart pounding in his chest, a scream bottled tightly in his throat. He fought to control his breathing, each gasp a struggle to draw oxygen into his lungs. It took a full minute to regain some sense of reality.

Tossing off the constricting, sweat-dampened covers, Jim sprang up, drawing his robe around him even as he hurried down the stairs. He stopped short outside Blair's room, extending his hearing to find the sound of his Guide's heart. Still breathing hard, Jim had to work to focus on the sound, then his breath caught when he heard the rhythm.

He couldn't describe the problem in words, but as sure as he was standing in his own home, something wasn't right.

You knew that, Jim reasoned with himself. It's the first time you've really listened to his heart since he got sick. You've been tuning it out ever since the hospital. There's bound to be a difference. This is nothing to panic over. Dr. Ryan knows the problems. He's monitoring Blair's condition twice every week, along with the cardiologists. You shouldn't be this worried...this scared.

But he was.

He was terrified.

Standing outside Blair's room, the memory of the vision a heavy shadow hanging over him, Jim couldn't deny his own fear. It resounded in his veins, a pounding tympani of terror. Something was terribly wrong with his Guide.

Jim stood there in the dark, listening to the damaged heart of the man who had become the center of his world, and tried to weigh his options logically.

Problem was, there was no logic where Sentinels, Guides, and their visions were concerned.

There really was no decision to make. As soon as possible, Jim was taking Blair to Dr. Ryan - kicking, screaming, and cursing, if necessary.

********************

"It was a dream, man!" Blair argued, almost knocking over his glass of orange juice when he slapped the table with his fist. "I have a class to teach this morning. I can't go running to Ryan whenever you get one of your fear responses!"

Jim fought against his instinct to grab Blair and hustle him out the door without another word "Chief, this wasn't a dream. It was a vision. There is a difference, and you damn well know it. I've had them before, and you know better than anyone what happened when I tried to ignore them. I won't make that mistake again, Sandburg. I can't afford to, and you sure as hell can't afford it either."

"Look, Jim." Blair was suddenly calmer, more reasonable. "I have my weekly appointment with Dr. Ryan tomorrow anyway. What's one more day gonna hurt?" He shut his eyes for a moment, then opened them again to stare at Jim, challenge flowing steadily from his blue eyes.

Did he look paler this morning? There was no denying that the circles beneath his eyes were deeper, providing undeniable evidence of his exhaustion.

"So you go a day early." Jim got up and placed his plate in the sink. "Look, Sandburg, I'm not taking no for an answer on this one, so don't waste your breath arguing." Jim monitored Blair with his sense of hearing as he quickly washed his plate and coffee cup. Blair wasn't happy with his ultimatum, but at last, he heard him take a long, deep breath.

"All right, but I'm teaching my nine o'clock class. I'll be done at eleven. I'll go see Ryan then. If he has time to see me," the younger man added, a note of challenge still in his voice.

A partial surrender. Jim was tempted to fight for complete victory, but the hard set of Blair's expression told him it would mean another round of arguments. He wasn't sure if it was worth the risk of getting Sandburg upset again. He settled for what Blair had offered. With a small modification.

"Fine. He'll see you. I'll make sure of that. And I'm dropping you off and school and picking you up at eleven. I don't think you should drive right now." The image of Blair blacking out at the wheel wasn't one Jim wanted to allow to become reality.

"Nobody ever said I couldn't drive," Blair pointed out testily.

"I just said it. Humor your Blessed Protector on this one, okay? If you get an all clear from Ryan, I won't say another word about it."

Apparently that placated his Guide. Nodding agreement, Blair got up from the table and cleaned his own dishes then proceeded to gather his things for the day.

Within a few minutes they were on their way to Rainier. Just an ordinary day, Jim thought as he drove the familiar route to campus.

He wished with every fiber in his being that by the time they left Ryan's office, it really would be just another average day.

********************

Jim parked the truck in front of Hargrove Hall then walked toward the entrance to the building where the anthropology department was housed. He took care to ignore the splashing of the fountain as he passed. It was too chilling a reminder of the last time he'd come so close to losing Blair.

But he hadn't lost him then, and Jim intended to make absolutely certain that he did not lose him now.

There was a commotion around the front entrance. A huddle of students was busily humming like bees around their hive. Something was always going on where college students were concerned, he thought with a wry smile. And Sandburg absolutely loved the busyness of working with young people. It suited him perfectly. In fact, Blair still had so much kid in him, he often seemed not that much older than the students he taught.

One of the students turned and recognized Jim. It was Anthony, a senior Blair had introduced him to once in his office. "Detective Ellison!" Anthony broke from the huddle and hurried toward Jim.

"Hey, Anthony," Jim greeted him, pleased that he could greet the personable young man by name. But Anthony did not return Jim's smile.

"It's Dr. Sandburg! Something's wrong with him! He passed out during our lecture and..."

Jim didn't wait for the rest. Breaking into a run, he charged through the doors then realized he didn't know where Blair was. Hearing Anthony behind him, he barked, "Where is he?"

"Hall B. Downstairs and to the right."

As Jim ran down the hall, he called back, "Did anyone call an ambulance?"

"They said it was on the way. But that was a few minutes ago. We were waiting outside to show them which way to go when they arrived."

Jim took the long flight of steps three at a time, his feet barely skimming the stairs. Hanging a right, he immediately heard the hum of concerned voices from lecture hall B and stormed through the doors and down the long aisle leading to the podium.

Blair was crumpled on the floor. Someone had covered him with a coat, and a sweater was tucked beneath his head. Blair lay on his back, his eyes closed, and his face chalky white. Jim drew in a sharp breath as he saw the slight underlying blue tint to Blair's skin. The crowd of students drew back at his arrival, giving him room to get to Sandburg. Dropping to one knee, Jim placed his fingers directly on the pulse point on Blair's neck and released a grateful breath.

There was a pulse.

Tuning in his hearing, he heard the telltale beat of life, but it was shaky and out of time, like an inexperienced rhythm section, unsure of its groove. This was definitely not good.

"Chief?"

At the single word, Blair's eyes fluttered open. A weak smile twisted the corners of his lips upward, and his mouth moved slightly, but no sound emerged.

"Shhhhh...don't try to talk." Pulling the coat more snugly around Blair's shoulders, Jim stroked his hair gently, hoping the touch would calm his frightened Guide. "It's okay, Blair. There's an ambulance on the way. I'm right here. Relax. Take slow, deep breaths. Easy, now."

The wide blue eyes never left his face. Jim talked quietly, never ceasing the rhythmic stroking. As the minutes ticked by, the knot in his gut grew. By the time the ambulance arrived, the blue tint of Blair's skin had intensified, and his breathing had become more labored.

Immediately, an oxygen mask was strapped on, and the EMTs began running IVs and talking to the hospital on the radio. Jim reluctantly moved back, allowing easier access to Blair. Sandburg's eyes followed him, searching silently for reassurance.

Jim only wished he could provide some, both to Blair and to himself.

Jim followed the stretcher out the door and to the ambulance.

A frightening sense of déjà vu followed Jim as he drove behind the ambulance, sirens blaring, to the hospital. They'd followed the same route, after Blair returned to life at the fountain.

His jaw set in steel, Jim concentrated on the traffic, but a niggling thought kept fluttering in the back of his mind.

How many times can one person cheat death?

********************

Dr. Ryan slipped quietly in the door, and Jim looked up from his place at Blair's bedside. The doctor's face was grim, and Jim knew immediately the news was not good. Glancing down, he saw that Blair's eyes were open and following the doctor over the oxygen tubes fixed in place beneath his nose.

Ryan didn't waste time with pleasantries. "Blair, we have you stabilized now, but I don't have to tell you that you had a close call this morning."

Sandburg nodded. "Yeah, I figured. What...happened?" His voice was weak, and nearly every other word was followed by a pause as Blair fought for the energy to speak.

The doctor pulled up the second chair across the narrow bed from Jim's position and shook his head. His face was a grim mask. "I'd hoped that your heart would be able to cope with the loss of the damaged portions of muscle and compensate. But from the tests we ran this afternoon, it seems that even more muscle was damaged than we originally thought. Your heart is just too weakened to sustain life. You had a cardiac arrest this morning, Blair. If you had been doing anything other than just standing and talking, it might have been a lot worse."

Jim's mind reeled as he tried to make sense of the doctor's words. This wasn't right. It wasn't fair. Blair was too young for a heart attack. He should be healthy, active, and enjoying each and every moment of his life, not lying here in the hospital fighting to survive. It wasn't fair, damn it!

But since when had life become fair?

"So, I...go home...and rest?"

Dr. Ryan shook his head. "No, Blair, I'm afraid not. I cannot allow you to leave the hospital in this condition. It would be too risky."

Jim stared at his friend, unwilling to believe there wasn't something he could do to help. "So what do we do? How do we fix this?" Already knowing what the doctor was going to say, he covered Blair's hand with his and squeezed reassuringly.

"If we do nothing, he will die." Jim flinched at those words as Ryan continued. "Blair, your only option is another transplant. We need to locate a strong heart that will be able to take over for your damaged one."

Blair shut his eyes, his chin quivering slightly, and nodded. He didn't speak.

Jim tightened his grip on his Guide's hand. This just couldn't be happening. It was all part of the nightmare, part of his worst dreams. "The last time...with his kidney...there wasn't a donor..."

Ryan nodded. "I know, but again, his condition warrants his name being placed near the top of the list for transplant. Frankly, it's a game of chance - a balancing act of keeping him stabilized through drugs long enough for an appropriate match to be made. It's a gamble. Of the approximately 4,000 patients approved yearly for transplant, about half die before a donor is found. It seems cruel, but the more his condition deteriorates, the higher on the list his name will go. If he goes too far down, however, he will no longer be considered a viable candidate."

The three men sat in silence. Blair's fingers curled around Jim's hand, holding on tightly. Jim returned the grip as his free hand ran soothingly up and down Blair's bare arm. There were no words left, no questions to ask that hadn't already been answered.

The doctor stood to leave. "I have to finish rounds. Blair, you keep your hopes up. We're going to do everything possible to help you. The statistics are looking better each year. After ten years, the survival rate for transplants is about 50%. Improvements in immunosuppression and in the prevention and treatment of infection have led to a greatly increased outlook, and we're continuing to make advances."

"As young as you are, there is every chance that even more advances will be made that will add to your living a longer life after transplant. I won't lie to you and say your life will be perfectly normal after the transplant. But it is a chance for life, Blair, and a good life at that."

He looked over at Jim. "As for you, I know better than to tell you to go home and rest, but remember that you need to pace yourself. You're no good to Blair completely exhausted."

Jim sat in stunned silence. He nodded briefly to indicate that he'd heard.

With a last compassionate look at the two friends, Dr. Ryan closed the door behind him.

A few minutes later, Blair said softly, "Guess you...were...right."

The words were a knife. "I'm so sorry, Chief."

Blair shrugged helplessly. "Not your...fault, man. We just...have to...hope that..." His voice gave out, leaving the sentence unfinished.

Jim fought for control over the despair threatening to overtake him. Images of the vision's wolf, injured and cornered by the skull-faced hunter, flashed before his eyes, overlaid in double exposure over Blair's pale face. The vision had warned him, should have prepared him for this. But nothing could ease the pain of hearing that Blair's life hung by a single thread of hope.

Unable to find words to comfort, Jim offered the only thing he had to give the young man who meant more than life to him - his presence and his touch.

And so the waiting began.

********************

Watching Blair grow visibly weaker by the day was the hardest thing Jim had ever endured. The hollows in his cheeks grew deeper as the circles beneath his eyes darkened even more. Brief catnaps lengthened into hours, and it became harder to rouse Blair from these deep sleeps. When he did awaken, he was often confused and disoriented. The mental confusion was almost harder for Jim to bear than his friend's physical weakness. Blair's once sharp, brilliant mind had been reduced by fate to a much slower, more muddled shadow of itself.

Friends came and went, their quiet words of encouragement appreciated, but no longer inspiring much hope. More often than not, Blair did not awaken during their brief visits. Jim began spending less time at the station and more at the hospital, but Simon did not object, and for that, Jim was grateful. The other detectives at Major Crimes willingly shouldered Jim's share of the workload so that he could be with his partner as much as possible.

Partnerships like theirs were rarer than perfect diamonds, and like those precious stones, inspired awe in those privileged enough to see them. The men of Major Crimes and of the Cascade P.D. had seen their share of strong, devoted partnerships, but never had they witnessed anything close to the power of the bond that connected Ellison and Sandburg. The unspoken knowledge that Jim and Blair might not have much more time together weighed heavily on everyone.

And broke their hearts.

One day, two weeks after collapsing during his lecture, Sandburg seemed to rally a little. He was contemplative, and Jim could see that something was weighing on his mind.

"Jim?"

Jim lowered the magazine he'd been holding - reading not being the appropriate term for merely staring blindly at the pages and flipping one occasionally. "You need something, Chief?"

Blair shifted in the bed, located the controls, and raised his head and shoulders up slightly. "There are some things...I need to take...care of." While he was a bit stronger, talking was obviously still a battle, and Jim ached with every labored breath his Guide drew.

"Right now, all you need to take care of is yourself. Anything else can wait until you get out of here."

Blair shot him an irritated look. "That's not what..I mean...and you...know it." The irritation was replaced by one of infinite sadness. "Aww, Jim...you know...I'm dying."

Blowing out his breath in an aggrieved huff, Jim shook his head. "No. You're going to get the transplant. You'll be okay."

"Aww, Jim...c'mon. You're the one with...Sentinel sight. Use it...to look at me. You think...I can't see...the changes? I can...barely walk now...just staying...awake is...a battle."

Blair stopped, breathing hard, the few sentences almost more than he could manage. "I want to put things...in order. I've already made...a will. I just want...to see some people...say things...that need saying." Wide blue eyes, too large in his thin, pale face watched Jim carefully. "I need to...say...goodbye."

"No...it's not time for that, Chief. You're a long way from goodbyes." Jim wanted to flee, to run from the hard truth Blair was trying to force him to face. It couldn't have come down to goodbyes. Not so soon.

"Jim, please...I'm just...asking you to let...a few people know. You don't have to...stay in the room, man...if it's too much..." Blair closed his eyes, weakened by the energy he'd expended. "Don't...want to...hurt you."

How could he argue with Blair, when he lay there so weak and so helpless? How could he deny what could be a last request from the man to whom he owed so very much? Yet, how could he concede defeat, admit that he was quickly losing the one thing he held most dear?

"Okay," Jim conceded quietly. "Just don't ask me to be part of your goodbye list, Chief. I won't go there with you. I'm not ready for that. I'm not sure I'll ever be ready, so just count me out."

********************

With each person he saw, Blair felt more at peace. He'd begun with his associates at Rainier, starting with some of his fellow professors and ending with Eli Stoddard. Eli had been the toughest. Saying goodbye to his mentor meant facing up to the fact that this time, his career was really over for good.

"You have a brilliant mind, Blair," the older man said, tears shining in his eyes, just before he left. "The world will be more empty without you."

Joel, Henri, and Rafe accompanied Simon to see Blair for what might be the last time. When they had all settled into chairs surrounding Blair's bed, the tired young man gazed at the circle of familiar, sad faces around him.

"You guys know the...score," he began, speaking slowly, each sentence requiring a substantial portion of his waning strength. "I'm not going...to waste time. I wanted to...let you know," he said, looking each one in the eyes as he spoke, "exactly how much I...appreciate everything...you've done...for me."

Rafe said quietly, "There's no need, Blair. We're all your friends, and..."

"Yes, there is...a need," Blair disagreed softly. "I don't want...loose ends."

When Rafe only nodded, swiping quickly at his eyes with his sleeve, Blair smiled, his chin quivering with a combination of emotion and weakness. "Rafe, you were the youngest...of the 'real' cops...guess that...made us...allies. You add class...with those...suits. Been...a good friend. Take care of Henri. Hard to find a...good partner."

Rafe whispered, "I will, Blair." He got up to face the window, his shoulders shaking.

Turning to Henri, Blair said with a smile, "Henri, you're a...real original. Talented musician...great cop. Look after Rafe. You're...family. Always made me feel...included. Calling me...'Hairboy'."

Blair forced a look of mock irritation and was rewarded when Henri laughed softly. "Thanks for always...being there...for me."

Leaning back, arms crossed, Henri's head inclined slightly in thanks. "You've been a great friend, Blair. It's been a pleasure working with you. And it's been an honor to be your friend."

Looking over at Simon, Blair's smile faded. "Simon...what can I...say? You're a leader...who inspires...leads by example. I came...believing...that cops can't be trusted...you intimidated the hell out of me."

"You didn't show it, Sandburg," Simon commented, his voice rough.

"Tried to...cover it...up," Blair explained with a weak smile. He stopped, taking several deep breaths of oxygen, gathering strength. "You had...every reason... to kick me out...but you let...me stay. For the past few years...I've known...what it's like...to have...a dad. Daryl's one...lucky kid."

Simon's only response was to reach over and squeeze Blair's shoulder and wipe away a single tear. "Thank you, son."

"Joel," Blair said, "you're one of the...finest men I've ever...met. I admire your...patience...insight...courage. Been...an honor...knowing you."

Joel bent down, hugging Blair as best he could, given the confines of the hospital bed. "You're a fine man, too, Sandburg, and a good cop. I don't care what title you have, you're one of us."

Blair's smile was weak but genuinely pleased. "That...means a lot...to me. Thanks, Joel."

All the detectives waited. Blair shut his eyes for a moment, gathering his energy for what would certainly be the toughest part of what he had to do. "One more thing," he said at last. "I have...a favor to ask...and it's a...big one. Look out...for Jim, okay?"

He stared out the window. It was raining, as it had been for two days. He could almost smell the fresh scent of a spring shower and longed to be outdoors. Maybe camping up in the mountains by a swiftly flowing river with Jim.

Jim...

His mind returned to the task at hand.

"He's in the middle of...some pretty deep denial," Blair continued with a heavy sigh. He paused to breathe deeply and gather his strength. "In my research...I called it a 'fear response'. It's something Jim...falls back on...when he's scared."

He stopped, breathing heavily. He had to keep going, had to find the strength to finish this. This was for Jim, perhaps the last thing he could do for him.

Seeing the doubtful looks on a couple of faces, Blair argued weakly, "Yeah, he gets scared...just like...we all do. He's just...better about...covering it up."

"When...if...I'm gone, Jim's going to have a tough time." Again, he paused to breathe. "You...all remember what...he was like before...hiding behind those damned walls...not letting anyone close enough to help him. Or hurt him."

Blair looked at each of his friends in turn. And they were his friends, just as they were Jim's. "Please...don't let him put up those walls again. He's going to need you all...to make it. Right now...Jim doesn't want to admit that I may...that I am...leaving him. Make him stay...in the world, okay? Whatever it takes...keep him from...shutting you all out. It won't be easy...nothing with Jim is ever easy...but he's worth it."

Blair's voice broke, and he had to take a couple of deep breaths of oxygen to steady himself enough to go on. "I need to know...he's going to...be all right. Can you promise me...you'll all be there...for Jim?"

One by one, each man gave his assent. "We'll look after Jim, Hairboy, don't you worry...Jim will be all right, Blair, we'll see to that...He may fight us, Sandburg, but we'll stay with him until he's okay again."

Moved beyond words, and utterly exhausted, Blair smiled weakly. Thanks, guys. Really. I'm not planning on going anywhere...for a while. I expect to see...you all here for some visits, okay?"

There were a few more good-byes, then the detectives of Major Crimes slipped away, leaving Blair to rest. As Simon stepped to the door, Blair whispered, "Simon? Stay a minute?"

"What is it, son?" Simon settled back into his chair.

"I need a...favor. Something I...couldn't ask in front...of the others."

"Of course. What can I do?"

"I'm trying to tie up loose ends, to say my good-byes...in case..." He knew he didn't have to explain. "But Jim..."

"He won't let you say good-bye to him," Simon stated, his brown eyes filled with empathy.

Blair nodded. "Right. He's got a...major case of denial...going on right now. I really need...want...to let him know some stuff...but if he won't...let me tell him, if he doesn't want to hear..."

"Jim loves you, Blair," Simon said gently. "Maybe more than any of us can understand. This isn't easy for any of us, but it has to be killing Jim. I saw him at the fountain when he thought you were dead - when you were dead - and it nearly destroyed him. He just couldn't accept losing you. Wouldn't accept it. And somehow he found a way to bring you back. I'm not surprised he's denying what's happening to you now. He knows that this time, there's nothing he can do to keep you, so he's gone into denial mode. What can I do to help you say the things you want to say to him, so he'll hear you?"

Blair nodded. "I've got...an idea..."

********************

Two nights later, Jim wearily climbed the steps to the loft. It was after ten, and only Dr. Ryan's threat to have him banned from Blair's room had convinced him to head home for a night's rest.

"You won't do Blair any good if you end up flat on your back," the doctor pointed out. "Go home. I don't want to see you back here until morning. If necessary, I'll have a security guard posted outside his door to keep you out until you look like you belong to the human race again."

As if that would have kept me away, Jim thought as he slipped the key in the lock and finally caught a glimpse of his home at last.

How long had it been since he'd slept here? Pretty bad when a man can't recall the last time he'd spent a night in his own bed instead of sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair.

No wonder he was exhausted.

He should eat. Had he eaten since he'd grabbed a sandwich with Joel at lunch?

Did it really matter?

Stopping by the kitchen, he stared blankly into the refrigerator. Not much to choose from there. Finally, he selected a can of soup from a cabinet and nuked it until it was lukewarm. He crumbled in a few crackers and ate it standing up.

As Jim prepared for bed, he carefully avoided looking into Blair's room. Too dangerous with his emotions so close to the surface. The last thing he needed was to shatter the thin veneer of control he was managing to keep in place.

After a quick shower, Jim slowly went upstairs to his room. As tired as he was, he knew sleep would elude him. His mind was too full, his heart too heavy, for relaxation and rest.

He tossed restlessly, first to one side, then the other. The silence in the loft was so complete, it was distracting. He'd slept when Blair had been gone to Africa, just as he had on other nights when Sandburg was away. Why was tonight so hard?

Because you know he may never be back here again...

Jim cursed the inward voice and punched his pillow. What was wrong with the damned thing? Had it always been so hard?

No...something was under his pillow...something square and hard. Reaching under, Jim pulled out a mini-cassette player.

What the...?

He didn't need additional light to read the sticky note attached, written in Blair's shaky hand:

Jim,
Please listen to this all the way through. For me, okay?
Blair

Jim let the tape player fall to the bed and lay back with a weary sigh. "Aw, Chief, what are you doing to me?" he muttered, closing his eyes. He could ignore the tape and the note. Rather, he could try. It called to him from across the bed, a siren beckoning him to the rocks of emotions he wasn't sure he could control.

One thing was for certain. There would be no sleep until he did as Blair asked. Until he heard whatever was on that tape.

Reaching over to where the player had fallen, he picked it up then lay for a moment, staring at the infernal machine. How the hell had Sandburg managed to get the thing under his pillow in the first place? Had to be Simon. No one else had a key.

"You win, Chief," he sighed, hitting the Play button. "Let's get this over with."

"Hey, Jim. Glad you're listening, man. I really wasn't sure if you would. I guess you figured that Simon helped me out with this. Don't come down on him too hard, okay? It's kinda tough turning down the request of a dying man, y'know?

Well, I guess that opens the door to what this is all about. I wanted to say some things to you, Jim, some things you weren't exactly ready to hear, at least not directly from me. I think I know why, and it's okay. This stuff isn't easy to hear. I know that. I figured it might be easier for you if you could listen to it without having to face me, to see me. I hope that's true, because it's important for me to know that you know. Simon's helping me tape this, but that's okay, too, 'cause he knows this stuff already, most of it anyway.

Jim hit the Pause button and let the machine fall from his hand. This wasn't going to be easy. He felt his heart pounding, just at the sound of Blair's voice and the words his friend said, apparently so easily. A dying man... How the hell was he supposed to listen to this?

Yet, how could he not? He hit Play again, steeling himself for what was to come. Blair's voice sounded stronger on the tape, almost normal. Jim could hear the oxygen rushing through the tube inserted in Blair's nose, but his breathing seemed fairly normal, and the pauses between words were almost nonexistent. But Sentinel ears could hear the subtle clicks that indicated that this tape had been made in very short segments, giving Blair time to regroup between takes. You're not fooling me, Chief. This was a major feat for you to pull off.

Jim, I want you to do a couple of things for me before I really get started, okay? First, I want you to go to my room and get one of my pillows off the bed. Yeah, I know it sounds weird, but bear with me here, all right? Turn the machine off now and go get the pillow. Then come back up to your room and lie down on the bed. Be sure whatever you're wearing is comfortable - loose and soft. Okay, flip off the machine then turn it back on when you're ready.

"This is getting strange, even for you, Chief," Jim grumbled as he trotted down to Sandburg's room. He bit the inside of his cheek as he entered, hoping the physical pain might distract him from the sensory onslaught. It helped, but not much. The scent of his Guide was strong, and Jim's chest tightened at the memories it evoked. Quickly, he swiped a pillow from the bed and headed back upstairs.

Stretching out, Jim stretched out on the bed. "Okay, kid. I'm comfortable. Lights are out. Let's do this." He hit Play.

Okay, you're back. Comfortable? Good.

First, let me remind you of something, Jim. This is NOT your fault. In no way, shape, or form. Remember, I was in Africa for MY career, not yours. It had absolutely nothing to do with police work and everything to do with anthropology. You accept certain risks with your career, right? Well, so do we. Anthropologists, I mean. One of those risks is the possibility of contracting some exotic illness, which is exactly what happened to me. So right now, I want you to repeat after me. 'What happened is not my fault.' Say it, Jim.

He couldn't get the words out. The knot in his throat was simply too tight. The scent of Blair lingered on the soft white pillow case, and it wafted around him like a cloud. Sandburg wasn't there. He was in the hospital, fighting for his life once again. How could he not blame himself? If he'd only been there...

You didn't say it, did you? Didn't think you would the first time. Let's try it again, man, 'cause this is, like, SO important for you to internalize. Say this after me, Jim. 'What happened is not my fault.' I want you to say it three times then say it at least three times a day until you really, truly believe it. Okay, let's go. Say it: 'What happened is not my fault.'

This time, he managed to whisper, "What happened is not my fault." Hesitating, he said it again. Then again. By the time he was done, there was actually a small part of him that believed it. When he had finished, Blair's voice spoke again, almost as if he'd known Jim had done as he'd asked.

That's the way, buddy. Remember, three times a day for as long as it takes. You're doing great, Jim. Just hang in there with me.

Now, I want you to just listen for a while, okay? First, take my pillow and bring it close so you can hold it and smell my scent on it. Take deep, long, slow breaths. In and out...slow and easy. Just listen to my voice and breathe me in, Jim. It's all right, man. I'm with you. I'll always be with you, no matter what. Relax...breathe...listen...that's all you have to do right now.

Without opening his eyes, Jim reached for the pillow, drawing it to his chest, and wrapping his arms around it. The cloud bearing his Guide's scent enveloped him, and at first, the force of the sensations hurt like hell. All the things Blair was - his strength, courage, humor, devotion, and compassion - surrounded Jim. His mind flashed to green fields and bright meadows with sweet wildflowers, the earthy scents of sage and musk, the clean, fresh smells of the earth after a spring rain. All of these - and so many more - were part of the unique spirit that was Blair Sandburg. Gradually, the essence of all that Blair was melted into him, dissolving like a mist, becoming so much a part of the Sentinel that he could feel the cloud-Blair swirling throughout his body.

Slowly, Jim released all the tension that had built up since Blair became sick and let the familiar, soothing voice carry him into a state of deep relaxation. His Guide's voice sang on, surrounding him with a soft blanket of caring and reassurance. The words were meaningless, intended only to help him relax, and they accomplished that purpose expertly. Eventually, however, Blair brought him back to what he was saying, but the feeling of relaxation remained.

That's better, isn't it? I want you to keep up the deep breathing, Jim, while I talk to you a while. Just listen and know that everything I'm saying here is the truth, man. I've never lied to you, right?

You know I don't want to leave you. I never want to be any place other than right there at your side. The years I've spent with you have been the best of my life. You do know that, don't you? I don't know how to put it all into words. I mean, just think about it - the excitement, the danger, the laughter, the tears. The friendship...

God, Jim, I don't want to go, but it looks like I may not have a choice this time. You do know I chose to come back at the fountain, don't you? You came for me - this gorgeous black jaguar racing toward me - but I had the choice. I could have chosen to stay there in the peaceful jungle, but I couldn't, man. Not when you'd come for me. I knew when I saw you there that you cared. That I mattered. So I came back.

Have I ever thanked you for that? For coming for me?

Anyway, this time, I don't think I'll have a choice. I promise you, I won't go unless I absolutely have to. I intend to fight this thing until there's just nothing left to fight with, Jim. I promise you that.

But, if I do have to go, know that I will always be with you. Sounds like a contradiction, right? But I believe there has to be something beyond this life. I mean, Incacha's proven that to us, hasn't he? When you really, really need him, he's able to come to you. Well, if I go, you'll have me, too. I swear, Jim, I will stay beside you, in this world and in the next. And one day, my friend, we'll be together again.

So, I don't want you going backwards, okay? No putting up those walls of yours and keeping out the people who care about you. Letting them in and going on with your life doesn't mean that you love me any less.

It's okay to hurt, man, and it's okay to grieve. You have my permission to cry, to scream or break things or go punch the hell out of the bag at the gym. Whatever you need to get through this is okay, but you do not have my permission to go back to that island of isolation of yours again. You've got good friends in the guys at the station, Jim. Let them help you. Lean on them, man. Please.

No one can understand what we are, man. I know that. But they all know what it's like to love...and to lose. That's what this is really all about, isn't it, Jim? Not about a Sentinel losing a Guide or a cop losing his partner. I've said it before, but it's still true. It's about friendship. And losing a friend is never easy. Especially when that friendship is so much more than either of us ever dreamed it could be.

As far as being the Sentinel is concerned, please, man, don't bury that part of yourself with me. If you do that, then you're burying the single greatest thing I accomplished with my life.

Did you know that, Jim? That you are what I'm most proud of? I know, you were a great cop before the senses came along - before I came along - but I think - hell, I know - that I helped you become an even better one. All my degrees, everything else I've accomplished, they don't mean a thing compared to what we've done together, man. I'm just so damned proud of you.

You are so amazing, Jim. I know I played a role in your becoming what you are today, and I just don't want you to forfeit all that because I'm gone. Carry on, my brother. I'll be watching...and helping when I can.

One last thing, and maybe it goes without saying, but I guess if I'm ever going to say it, this is the time. I love you, Jim. I wish there was another word for how I feel about you because as powerful as those three words are, they still just don't say it all. You've been my brother...my home...my father...my friend...my protector...my confidant...my teacher and my student...but most of all, you've been my Sentinel.

If the measure of a life is how much we have love